Touch the Sun

by Wright, Cynthia

  It was love at first sight. Meagan put a hand out, which the horse nosed gently; then they met—Meagan caressing, the filly nuzzling.

  When at last she looked back to seek out Lion, tears sparkled on her cheeks.

  * * *

  Bramble retained her customary bad temper, and Meagan soon understood what had brought gentle Smith to complain about the cook's high-handedness. Bramble made her presence and her opinions known each minute of each day; she seemed more ill-natured than ever since her demotion at Mansion House. When she wasn't discoursing on the many flaws of the Binghams and their contemporaries, she was attempting to make Meagan feel like a fool. Bramble expected her to be involved in some type of work from dawn to dusk and when she wasn't, the old woman shot her looks more deadly than poison.

  Lion thought it all highly amusing. Only his balancing influence kept Meagan from turning into a guilty wreck, for he laughingly reminded her several times a day that she, and not Bramble, was in charge.

  After her weeks as lowly serving-girl, this was a hard fact to remember. She succumbed to habit once again as Lion led her back from the stables. Bramble was waiting for them in the kitchen, obviously irked by Meagan's all-morning absence. With one critical eye, she took in the new rose gown and said, "Would ye have a minute to spare as housekeeper?"

  Meagan blushed automatically, conscious of Lion's hand at the small of her back. He removed it and left the room, giving her a smile of mingled amusement and sympathy.

  "I never saw a servant wear such clothes," Bramble observed. "Have ye misplaced the black gowns from Mansion House?"

  "Perhaps," Meagan said, slightly irritated. In fact, Lion had left those dresses for the poor.

  "Ye have been absent a great amount." Her tone belied the simplicity of the statement. "I would have some information as to the master's preferences. The other girl—Prudence—is too dull to be of help, and I had a notion ye might be the one to ask."

  Oh Lord, thought Meagan, I never felt so guilty before my parents or my governess, no matter how I misbehaved. Why now?

  "Certainly, Bramble. I should have thought of it myself."

  Together, they sat down at the gateleg table and Meagan wrote down Lion's favorite foods, including squash, cornpone, succotash, Indian pudding, turkey stuffed with oysters, and hominy. It was Bramble, in her perceptiveness, who made her see the significance of that list.

  "Hmm! He must come from the country! I never knew a city-bred gentleman partial to such dishes."

  It was one more piece for Meagan's puzzle.

  When she left the kitchen to finish unpacking the new dresses, she found Lion waiting in the hallway.

  "There is much to do," he announced with that dazzling, resistance-melting grin. "And your poor horse is waiting to be exercised."

  Meagan succumbed to his persuasion, begging only a few minutes to change into her new plum velvet riding habit. After issuing instructions to Bramble and Wong, she fairly ran to join Lion at the stables. He had saddled the lovely filly, who divided her affectionate gaze between her mistress and Lion's chestnut roan.

  "Does your horse have a name?" Meagan inquired.

  "I have never used one, although when I acquired him in January, Flynn called him Hellfire."

  "Oh! That is perfect! It shall be Hellfire and Heaven!" Her face grew pensive as she thought of leaving the filly behind in a few weeks. When Lion spoke, it seemed that he read her mind.

  "You understand that Heaven is your horse, come what may? I would not separate you. She is a gift, a token of love, if you will."

  Meagan looked up sharply, meeting his clear eyes. It was the first time he had ever used the word love, however lightly, and its cut was both deep and sweet.

  They rode back to Markwood Villa, where Lion wrote down their final plans for each room's contents. The afternoon was advanced when they left but Lion seemed energetic, and Meagan felt lively as well. They gave the horses their heads along the Schuylkill until the great estates north of Philadelphia came into view.

  Lion showed her Landsdowne, the Binghams' magnificent summer home, as well as the nearby estate owned by Robert Morris. They then passed Mount Pleasant, designed in the manner of Markwood Villa, which Benedict Arnold had acquired for his bride, Peggy Shippen. Lion explained that Arnold had been charged with treason before they ever passed a night in the house.

  The Schuylkill shimmered in the spring sunlight as they rode along past the fashionable summer homes of Philadelphia's elite. The grounds were like parks, watered and clipped to perfection, unlike the wild riotousness of Markwood Villa. Heaven was proving an ideal horse, obedient yet frolicsome. She followed Hellfire's lead as he galloped along the riverside road When they passed Woodlands, Lion told her that the Hamiltons, who owned it, were the first to bring the Lombardy poplar and the weeping willow to the colonies. The family had greatly advanced botany by importing large numbers of unique trees and shrubs from England, the Continent, and even the Far East.

  His voice broke off as he recognized a carriage full of people who drew near to them and called a greeting The open carriage slowed, then stopped, and a magnificent man jumped down.

  He had black hair and vivid turquoise eyes; his body was as tall, lean, and tanned as Lion's, and they clasped hands as old friends.

  "Meagan, this is Alexandre Beauvisage, with whom I served in the Revolutionary War." The two men exchanged grins. "And this beauty is his wife, Caroline. In the back are their children, ah..."

  "Etienne and Natalya," called the honey-haired Mrs. Beauvisage.

  A boy of around five, his father's miniature, and a blond toddler peeked out and smiled. Meagan beamed in return, feeling instantly drawn to this attractive quartet and to Caroline in particular. There was a candor in her friendly, caramel eyes that Meagan thought rare.

  "Lion, we were just remarking yesterday that we haven't seen much of you since your last voyage," Alec said.

  He gave a rueful smile. "I fear that I've been spending too much time at the Binghams' Mansion House."

  Caro gave a laugh. "That explains it then, for you know that I have no tolerance for their society or that of their friends. I would far prefer a meal under a meadow tree to supper at Mansion House!" She wagged a finger at Lion. "Don't be tempted by that sort of power; it's very deceiving."

  "I promise to keep my wits about me, my lady," he replied, while Meagan beamed at Caro in approval.

  The two men conversed for a few moments, apparently about ships, then Beauvisage returned to his Caro. When they started off in the opposite direction, Meagan drew Heaven alongside Lion to ask, "Who were they? What lovely people!"

  "You would be delighted by their story," he answered, as Hellfire began to trot up the road. "Alec brought Caro here as his ward after the war ended. He launched her into society, but eventually married her himself. Theirs is one of the few happy endings I know of."

  Meagan saw the cynical spark of disbelief flicker in his eyes and decided not to comment. There would be no use in her defending true love if he refused to accept its existence.

  Distraction soon appeared when they arrived at Kingressing, the location of John Bartram's botanical gardens. Meagan knew of it well but pretended ignorance as Lion pointed out the various species of plants and shrubs discovered by Bartram.

  Once Royal Botanist of the colonies, he had been dead ten years. His son, William, came out to meet them. Again Meagan was amazed by the number of friends Lion had acquired, despite his many months at sea.

  Lion introduced her as casually as if she were his groom, then just as easily included her in their conversation. William Bartram was as enthusiastic a botanist as his late father had been, tending the vast gardens lovingly and traveling out to the untamed lands beyond the thirteen states to hunt new species of plant life. He listened with interest to Lion's story of Markwood Villa and his plans for a crazy-quilt garden. Skillfully, Lion edged into a request for some of Bartram's prized flowers and plants, most particularly the rare tree Fran
klinia, discovered and named by the Bartrams after the one and only Benjamin.

  Graciously, William offered to present Lion with two of the trees as a wedding gift and was persuaded to relinquish, for a price, slips of Lion's other favorite plants to ensure a spectacular beginning for the new garden.

  As they talked, the sun was dipping low over the Schuylkill, a molten coral arc that bled fire into the water. Meagan finally nudged Lion with an elbow to his waist, thinking in spite of all her firmest intentions, of Bramble's disapproval and silent, accusing glares which would await them at home. Fortunately, he took the hint and minutes later they bade Mr. Bartram a warm good-bye.

  Hellfire and Heaven cantered toward Philadelphia in smooth harmony. Meagan cast worried glances at the vehicles which they passed on the road, remembering that Bartram's Gardens was a popular recreation spot.

  "Starting tomorrow," said Lion suddenly, "we shall begin to organize Markwood Villa in earnest. The painting and carpets must be attended to, and we can investigate the shops of every cabinet-maker before choosing all the furniture. We want to have each room perfect; just the way you've envisaged.

  "I'll send Joshua round to Bartram's to fetch the Franklinia trees and the rest. Don't you think that it will be safe to begin by next week? God knows I wouldn't want to see them freeze as soon as they're replanted—"

  "You are really looking forward to working on the house, aren't you?" Meagan asked, vaguely surprised.

  "Damn—it's true! It is the challenge, I suppose, and I seem to feel oddly attached to the place. Perhaps we are both misfits... black sheep..." His eyes turned thoughtful for a moment, then a harsh laugh broke the silence. "I may as well tell you—it's partly that rebellious side of me. Priscilla tried to make me change my mind and buy some property near Landsdowne. She had visions of me building a dream house for her."

  "I gather you refused?"

  Lion lifted a satirical eyebrow. "Did you doubt it? Poor girl... she'll have to make do with a haunted, broken-down villa unfashionably south of Philadelphia."

  "You are a blackhearted wretch," Meagan said matter-of-factly, and Lion's mouth curved upward at her demeanor. "By the way, I simply do not see how you can propose to take me with you on these shopping excursions! Even today, we could have been recognized by dozens of people at Bartram's Gardens and here on the road. You can't just flaunt me in front of the entire town, especially in these new clothes—"

  Her violet eyes widened, sparkling in the smoky-pink light of sunset, and she sat up straight on Heaven's back as a grin spread over her face.

  "Lion! Oh, Lion, listen! I have the most inspired idea; it is the perfect solution. Why didn't I think of it earlier?"

  Chapter 31

  Bubbling with an excitement that smacked of anticipated risk, Meagan buttoned Wong's breeches up to her waist and hurried toward the mirror. The figure staring back laughed out loud, appearing on the verge of an impromptu dance.

  Only the creaminess of her complexion and the thick lashes which fringed beautiful eyes could possibly betray her sex, but who would take the time to suspect a small, plainly-dressed groom? Wide lace ribbons, thoughtfully supplied by an unwitting Madame Millet, bound her breasts. Aided by a loose-fitting shirt and black coat, her curves were effectively hidden.

  Meagan had spent a full quarter-hour pinning silky, endless curls against her head, and still a man's bicorne hat barely fit around the ebony mass. It did cover her forehead, however, lending shade and a slightly gauche look to the face below.

  Perfect, thought Meagan. Thank God for little Wong and his unremarkable taste in clothes! In the black suit, white stockings, and buckled shoes, she cut the ideal figure of a dullwitted, adolescent groom. No one would give her a second glance.

  She sauntered around the room a few times, marveling at how wonderful it felt to be back in breeches. How could she have borne the sidesaddle these past weeks? Perhaps Lion would consent to a hard ride in the country; it would be glorious to sit properly on Heaven's back!

  Wong's clothing had been confiscated while the butler was busy upstairs, and Meagan shuddered at the thought of discovery. No possible explanation would placate him.

  So she had left word for Lion to fetch her at her room; together they would be able to escape safely from the house. At that moment, his familiar knock sounded, and after one last jaunty glance in the mirror, Meagan went to meet him.

  It was a rare treat to see Lion so nonplussed. Giggling softly, she pulled him in and closed the door.

  "Do you like it?" she inquired, pirouetting on the toe of one buckled shoe. "I'll allow that Wong and I may not curve in quite the same places, but the fit will do."

  Lion continued to look dazed. "Meagan—"

  "I know, I am a genius!"

  "You are mad! Look at you! Breeches!"

  "Well, honestly, you act as though I am some sort of freak! Women do have legs, you know, just like men."

  "Come over here."

  She could see a glint in his eyes that betrayed admiration and pure delight. Her own happiness was such that she stood still and continued to beam as he ran lean hands over her hips, then under the jacket. His touch was warm through the fabric of her shirt, almost causing her to forget to draw back before he reached her breasts.

  But Lion was quicker. "For God's sake, Meagan, what have you done to yourself?"

  "Well, boys don't have... those—do they?" she argued defensively. "It's a costume, after all, and it should be authentic."

  Lion raked a hand through his hair. "This is utter madness! There is not another woman alive who would cheerfully garb herself in breeches, let alone—"

  "I'm not any other woman. I am me. If I am odd, then so be it."

  "Oh, Meagan," he groaned, feeling his lips twitch helplessly at the sight of her.

  "It will be fun! An adventure! Please, don't scold me anymore. If we are going to do all that you planned, we must be off, so let's not waste another moment." She dashed back for one last appraisal in the mirror, adding as she pulled down her hat, "You must go and scout the rear hallway, Lion. It wouldn't do for me to bump into Wong!"

  * * *

  And so it went. Every morning, Meagan donned her groom's disguise and she and Lion combed the shops of Philadelphia until all the furnishings for Markwood Villa were chosen. The simple pleasure of shopping was transformed into an adventure by Meagan's masquerade. There was always the chance that someone would look too closely at her face or that she would forget to deepen her voice—a practice which gave Lion great amusement—or that he would thoughtlessly embrace her. His own role became crucial to the success of hers, for he had to remember to treat her as he would Joshua. Considering his feelings and a strong physical attraction that persisted no matter what clothing Meagan wore, this was a tall order.

  The conspiracy brought them closer together than ever. In the evening, Meagan would take unusual pains with her appearance; she never wore the same gown twice, and her skin glowed from the scrubbing it received. No longer were her curls pinned up helter-skelter; in fact, she arranged them over and over and never felt satisfied with the results. It was as though she needed to remind Lion regularly that in spite of her fondness for breeches, she was still very much a female.

  Lion needed no reminding. He burned night and day with desire and was somewhat astonished at his newly discovered control. Unable to leave her side, he virtually ignored Priscilla and dined at home, yet wondered why he subjected himself to such unceasing torment. Meagan seemed to be unaware of his agony, obviously expecting him to behave since he had given his promise. No longer wary, she happily shared his company, and Lion marveled that all the other aspects of their relationship were enough in themselves to compensate for not only the absence of physical communication but his own accompanying painful yearnings.

  Even during the day, the sight of her piquant face under that ridiculous hat made him long to lift her up and kiss her. Each moment they were together reminded him of moments past; the abandon of her r
esponse when her control was washed away, the sweetness of her lips, the satiny warmth of the body now constantly hidden, the thump of her heart against his chest. The days of denial drove him mad, yet he could not bring himself to leave the cause of his suffering any more than he could break his promise to her. He guessed, rightly, that she would not have refused him a simple kiss, but Lion knew that after one taste there would be no turning back.

  The first week of April was gone before Markwood Villa's purchases were complete. Only the master bedchamber remained to be filled, a task Meagan had purposely postponed. Priscilla's furnishings had been difficult enough, but Lion had casually refrained from mentioning the room's future occupant when they picked out the new Hepplewhite four-poster and its various accessories. There was no way to camouflage the purchase of his own bed, however, and Meagan was tortured throughout by images in her mind of Priscilla curled up on it, her head resting on Lion's hard brown chest. By the time they decided on a suitably handsome bed and gray and ivory drapes for it, she felt physically ill.

  Leaving John Folwell's shop, Lion took one look at her drawn face and sensed the problem.

  "Well, that's that! All we have to do now is stand back and tell them where to place the furniture."

  "When will the men bring the carpets?" she asked weakly.

  "Tomorrow. I hope that dubious crew I hired to paint the interior is done. You are right. I do need a bigger staff. Someone should have been out there to supervise more often."

  "There is time yet for that. You would have no problem finding servants if you kept slaves like everyone else."

  "Not everyone." He smiled slightly at her dubious expression. "All right, almost everyone, but not I. You know how I feel—"

  "Yes, Lion, and I agree! You don't have to argue the point with me. Save that speech for your future wife."

  He put a tentative hand on her arm in spite of the people milling about. "Meagan, you look a bit pale. Would you like a walk? We could head toward the State House—"